


Caught in the Undertow

by notsowriterly



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: And maybe a tiny bit of angst, Cuties, Depending on which way you look at it, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Happy Ending?, M/M, Multi, Possible emotional abuse, Rich!Grantaire, Sexy Protestor Enjolras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3244982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsowriterly/pseuds/notsowriterly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first triumph, is this. The want of a child, to take his first steps. The fear of a father, that he'd fall. Neither of them are wrong in this. Not the child for trying, nor the father, for holding onto him. But what happens when even after twenty-four years, a father still refuses to let go?</p><p>(A Bommarillu AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in the Undertow

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This story here stems from my unnatural obsession with Telugu movies and my overwhelming love for Enjoltaire, and at first I wasn't planning on posting it, but then, on a random whim, I decided to.  
> Don't worry, you don't need to watch Bommarillu to understand this, though watching it is HIGHLY recommended, because it's completely adorable.  
> Hope you enjoy! And please, it would really make my day if you'd comment or give kudos!

Eponine’s laughing. Grantaire kind of wants to strangle her. “Do you find this funny?!”

She takes one look at him, tries to keep a straight face, and lasts promptly two seconds before bursting out laughing again. “Seriously, R. Most people would kill to have a father like yours. He gives you more than what you ever could’ve wanted, what’s the harm in that?”

Grantaire scowls. “What’s the harm? What’s the harm?! Ask that question to the attendants at the mall, or better yet, the hairstylist at the salon. They’ll tell you whats the fucking harm.”

\----

_This. This definitely looks nice. Grantaire takes another look at himself in the mirror. The v-neck shows off his arms, and these skinny jeans definitely show off his ass...He looks hot. He grins into the mirror and then takes a deep breath, opening the fitting room door. What he sees makes his heart sink._

_“This is what everybody’s wearing nowadays, sir. It’s all over every magazine.” The attendant says earnestly._

_His father, Javert, purses his lips, raising an eyebrow at the tshirt. It’s not that bad looking, has some tribal looking design that if Grantaire was a braver man, he’d like to get tattooed with, but Javert looks at it like it’s covered in slime. “And what does this say about my son? That he’s a hoodlum? Please.” He lifts up a handful of hangers worth of collared dress shirts, and rolls his eyes. “I know exactly what to fit my son with, thank you. Grantaire!” Grantaire flinches as his father spears him with an accusing glance. “What are you wearing? Did these attendants give you that? You look ridiculous. Take it off, put these on.”_

_And Grantaire leaves the mall wearing the same dress shirts and carrying a similar kind in a bag underneath his arm, mentally imagining ripping them all to shreds._

\-----

Eponine snickered. “And what about the hairstylists?”

\------

_This was it. His first act of rebellion. Sammy washed his hair, patting it with a towel so it didn’t drip. “What hairstyle would you like, sir?”_

_Grantaire steeled himself, and showed her the hair cut he’d selected. A cool undercut, edgy and sexy, the beggining of the kind of person he’d want to be. At least then he wouldn’t have to cringe everytime he saw his sensible hair cut in the mirror. Sammy looked unconvinced, but she nodded, and Grantaire sighed, closing his eyes and settling himself in. This was the first time his dad wasn’t there to oversee his stupid hair cut, and Grantaire was going to make the most of it. Thank god for that emergency meeting with the Japan branch of their company…_

_He’d dozed off a little to the feeling of Sammy’s hands in his hair, and finally Sammy tapped him awake. “Mr. Grantaire? It’s done.” He opened his eyes and jolted when instead of the undercut, he had a trimmed version of his regular hair cut._

_“Sammy?”_

_“Don’t worry, Grantaire. I know Sammy probably suggested some radical hair cut, but we both know the image you’re trying to exude isn’t gutter dog, right? You’re my son. You have to dress accordingly.” Grantaire looked back at his father, wearing a wooden smile. Apparently the meeting ended a little early. Fuck._

\-----

Eponine waves him off, laughing so hard she’s wheezing. “Oh my god….” She tries to stop laughing, and manages to keep a semi straight face before gasping out, “What else?”

“What else? Like that’s not enough. I wanted to go to college in the West, you know, LA, San Fran, maybe take a few courses in the arts. And what does he do? He gets me into fucking Comlumbia and makes me stay with him the entire time so I don’t accidentally get mixed into the riff raff. And now I have a degree in fucking _economics_. Economics, Eponine!”

Eponine grins, pats his head sympathetically, and hands him another drink. “So what did you do?”

Grantaire furrows his eyebrows, pointing a finger at her. “I’ll have you know, I made a descicion to have one thing in this world that will be _my_ choice, and _my_ choice only.”

Eponine snorts. “Oh yeah? And how well did that go?”

 

## Few Months Earlier

 

“Young Master? Young Master! You have to wake up, now.”

Grantaire groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. “Not today. Just for today, let me sleep and wake up at a time that I want…”

Mabeuf raised an eyebrow. “Your father is already up, Young Master.”

Grantaire jack knifed up in bed, looking wildly at the time. Shit, shit, _shit_...He took his clothes from Mabuef and raced into the shower, double checking his hair twice until he was sure his father would be satisfied, before walking down the stairs to see his father reading the paper at the table. Javert folded up the paper as Grantaire arrived. “You’re late, Grantaire.”

Grantaire internally winced. “I’m sorry, Sir.” He said. “It won’t happen again.” Javert hummed thoughtfully.

“Good. Now. Do you know what day it is, Grantaire?”

Grantaire frowned, shooting a quick panicked look to Mabeuf. Did he manage to miss someone’s birthday? Mabeuf shook his head imperceptibly, and Grantaire gulped, looking back at his father. “What day is it, Sir?”

“You told me you wanted to take a year for further studies, and you’ve been under the tutelage of your proffessor for exactly one year today, Grantaire. It’s time for you to come to the office.”

Grantaire gulped. “We haven’t yet finished our current subject, Sir, maybe in another month…?”

Javert sighed. “Grantaire. You’ve been saying a year, a month, a week since two years now.” Grantaire tried to come up with something, quick, but his father already started looking at him thoughtfully. “How about this? Instead of taking one month, you give me one week this time?” Grantaire shot another glance at Mabeuf, but he only gave Grantaire a sympathetic glance. Dread curled at the pit of his stomach.

“A week for what, sir?”

Javert took a dainty sip of his protein enrichment shake, already unfolding his newspaper again. “To find you a bride, of course.”

Grantaire’s stomach dropped.

  


Courfeyrac moaned, falling against Joly, who pushed him off, already reaching for the handsanitizer. “You’ve ruined everything, ‘Taire! What happened to the pick up lines at bars? The shameless ogling? I’m going to be all alone! You’ve left me with no one! I’m all _alone_!” Grantaire whacked him upside the head, glaring.

“This is serious! I already told you, that two things--”

“My marraige and my career, will always be my desicion, not my father's.” The group chorused, and Grantaire went red, taking another drink.

Musichetta sighed, getting up from her little Bossuet and Joly blanket and pouring herself another drink. “Grantaire, I don’t think you have to worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?!” Grantaire asked incredulously, and she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, don’t worry about it. You’re father goes through fifty shops just to get you one shirt. To get you a bride? He’s going to comb through every single girl in all two hundred and seventy eight countries. It’ll take a year at least. You can find someone before then, right?”

A slow grin spread across his face. “You’re _right_. I still have time.”

Courfeyrac slung his arm over Grantaire’s shoulder. “Exactly. So let’s go find you a girl, Grantaire.”

“Or a guy. I’m _bi_.” Grantaire said, but Courfeyrac was already making lists of the clubs they had to go through, the parks, and vague aquaintances. Grantaire sighed. This was going to be a long week.

  


By Sunday, Grantaire was more than exhausted. He didn’t want to even look at another girl or a guy _ever_ again. He finally managed to shove Courfeyrac into Bossuet and get away, making his way to his car. On the corner, he saw a small group of students handing out LGBTQA flyers, and he shook his head, looking away. He had enough of gay clubs to last for a life time.

  


When he came home, his father was waiting for him. “Where have you been?”

Grantaire stiffened. “To Courfeyrac’s house.” Javert nodded.

“Hm. I wanted to talk to you. We’re going to dinner tonight. Dress nice.”

Grantaire nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  


Her name was Floreal. She was beautiful, blonde and pretty, and after every other sentence, she had to mention her father, Javert’s new business partner, or heaven help them all. She was nice, he supposed, another female version of Grantaire, caught in the iron tight grip of her parents.

She was also, Grantaire found out, his future bride.

  


Grantaire pressed his head into his hands. His phone was ringing incessantly, and even his coat felt stifling. He didn’t wanted to listen to his father, or his friends, or anyone. For one night, he just wanted to _escape_.

“Mabeuf, stop here.”

Mabuef frowned at him through the rear view mirror. “Here, Sir?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” He didn’t care if he was being too harsh, the “sir” reminded him way too much of his father, and that was something he didn’t want to think about. He was done. His life was just _gone_. Everything, right before his eyes. Love. Happiness. Joy. All gone. Mabeuf stopped the car in a side street, and Grantaire tossed his phone onto the seat before opening the door roughly and getting out, waving Mabeuf off when he planned to do the same. “Go home, Mabeuf. I’ll be fine.” And before Mabeuf could reply, he started walking off, heading down the street, not bothering to keep his hood up against the light drizzle. As he walked, he passed by the LGBTQA group that he saw earlier. He snorted at the sight of them, rolling his eyes. God help them for trying.

“Excuse me.” He stopped in his tracks at the voice behind him, and when he looked back, he caught his breath. It was one of the people flyering, and he was beautiful. His blonde hair curled softly against the sharp angles of his face, and Grantaire was itching for a sketch book or camera to capture the sight of him, looking furious, his blue eyes sparkling with passion.

Grantaire struggled to find his voice. “Yes?”

“Were you just laughing at us?”

One of the other members shot them a worried glance, like he wanted to intervene, and Grantaire kind of hoped he didn’t. One, because he didn’t want to lose sight of this blonde haired angel so quickly, and two, because he needed to argue, and Angel here was clearly looking for a fight. He smirked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow with an insolent expression that would make his father die on the inside.

“Why yes, Apollo, I was. Come to call me out on being a horrible human?”

Apollo glared, his cheeks flaring pink. “ _Yes_. Why are you laughing? Don’t you think that these people deserve to be free of oppression just for something that they’re born with?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’m _bi_ , Apollo, do I believe that I should be rid of oppression? Yes. Is it ever going to happen? _No_. But kudos to you for trying, man. Sucks to be you when you wake up and face the real world.”

Apollo’s cheeks got even darker. “That’s not true. Thanks to the efforts of groups like ours, the marraige equality law passed, the woman’s sufferage passed--”

“Oh, hallelujah, Apollo. Me and my imaginary boyfriend can get married. And then whenever we go out in public, we can be ridiculed, because ‘god hates fags.’ And the woman’s sufferage movement? Women still face sexism, they have faced sexism for the past fifteen thousand years. It’s not going to go away that easy.”

“But those are major steps! It doesn’t just happen over a _day_ \--”

“Happen at all, more like--”

“You’re wrong, you’re just being a cynic-”

“More like a realist--”

“Pessimist.”

“Saying it doesn’t make it true, Apollo--”

“Why do you--”

“ _Enjolras_.” The dude with the glasses that had been passing out flyers along with aparently Enjolras finally came over, placing a hand on Enjolras’s shoulder, and Enjolras huffed, jerking away and heading back to the rest of the group. Glasses Dude turned to Grantaire, smiling apolegetically. “I’m sorry about that.”

Grantaire grinned, shaking his head. He cast a glance at Enjolras, who was standing resolutely on the steps like a Roman Statue. “Don’t be. He’s very…” Beautiful. Righteous. Different. Passionate. “Stubborn. May I have a flyer?”

Glasses Dude looked surprised, but handed him one. “It’s for a protest. Next Saturday. I hope to see you there?”

Grantaire looked at the flyer. The drawings were hideous. He resisted the urge to wince, and looked back up at Combeferre. “I’ll come. I have a couple of friends who might be interested too.”

At this, Glasses finally gave him a genuine smile, nodding. “Thanks. We’ll be glad to have your support.” Grantaire nodded, and went on his way, shoving his hands in his pockets and whistling. He looked back once, and saw Enjolras looking at him.

He winked.

Enjolras flipped him off.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://thesenseinnonsense.tumblr.com/)! PROMPT ME.


End file.
